


Skis and Cigarettes

by Amuly



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-11-04 00:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is lazy after sex, Arthur is not. Arthur also gets curious about Eames’ skiing abilities. Kind of a two-ficlet mash-up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skis and Cigarettes

 

Arthur was extremely active after sex, a fact which always baffled Eames. After orgasm, Eames would slide down onto Arthur, feeling the slick of their skin, basking in the heady rush and calm that followed. But Arthur, without fail, would shove Eames off and climb out of bed. After a few minutes of lying on his stomach, breathing in the smell of musky sex that Arthur left behind, Eames would begrudgingly roll onto his back and fumble for his cigarettes, lighter, and ashtray on the nightstand. He’d light one and balance the ashtray precariously on a thigh as he watched Arthur work.

And work Arthur did. Immediately after sex, Eames had seen Arthur fold laundry, polish furniture, wash the windows, empty the dishwasher, wash the kitchen counters and table, clean the fridge, pull out work-related files, and even – one time fondly remembered by Eames – try and make the bed while Eames was still in it.

The one thing he never did was dust. Arthur only dusted unnecessarily when he was upset, as Eames learned upon walking, shamefaced, in on him doing just that after a row. Arthur had his entire collection of books stacked up on the couch and was dusting each and every one of them individually before returning them to their place on the perfectly polished bookcase.

At the moment, Arthur had brought in a basket of clean laundry, and was folding underwear and socks on the bed. Eames watched from beneath sex-heavy eyes as he sucked on his cigarette. “Want a fag, love?”

Arthur shook his head. “Working, Eames.”

Eames contemplated the end of his cigarette, turning it in his hand to inspect how much he had left. It was almost to the filter. He took another drag and reached for his pack, lighting another one with the tip of his old. As he sucked the heavy smoke into his lungs, he shifted into a more upright position, so he could watch Arthur walk to the closet with a handful of socks.

“I didn’t know you could ski.”

Eames blinked for a moment at the question. When he finally realized that Arthur was referring to the Fischer job, he laughed. “You didn’t see me, darling. I might have been terrible.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he walked back into the closet, armful of underwear (both his and Eames’) folded neatly in his hands. “It was your dream. You wouldn’t have had snow in your dream if you couldn’t ski.”

“Maybe Ariadne just didn’t consult with me first,” Eames continued to tease.

There was a pause as the sounds of drawers shutting reached Eames’ ears, then Arthur walked back out, face still steeled in amused challenge. “Besides, I heard from Saito that you were impressive. He wanted to invite you to one of his resorts on Mount Fuji, sometime.”

Eames stayed silent, sucking on his cigarette as he considered. In response, Arthur walked over to Eames and plucked the cigarette out from between his fingers. He took a long drag on it, eyes locked with Eames’ the whole time. As he exhaled, he placed the cigarette between Eames’ parted lips. Damn. Too bad they had just shagged.

Arthur settled, for once, on the bed in front of Eames, taking care not to knock over the ashtray. He’d be the one cleaning the sheets, after all – Eames was damned if he was going to do it. He contemplated Eames quietly for a moment, and Eames smoked his cigarette down to the filter as he did. He put it out in the ashtray, then placed it back onto the nightstand. Apparently that was Arthur’s cue, because he edged forward, until he was sitting in Eames’ lap. “Where’d you learn how to ski?”

“Mombasa.”

Arthur snorted, but continued waiting for his answer. Eames hesitated. He didn’t like this: people knowing about him, about his past or skills. It wasn’t the sordidness of it, or even lack thereof. When people learned others’ pasts, it suddenly took the mystery out of them – made them human. Eames preferred people to think he had sprung, fully formed and skilled into the world, exactly as he was today.

“Why the sudden interest?”

Arthur shrugged. “I like to know everything. It’s my job.”

“I’m not a job.”

Arthur smiled: a small, cautious thing that always melted Eames’ heart – and his resolve. He sighed.

“Stateside. Colorado.” Arthur looked surprised, frowning a little, so Eames continued. “Figured it might come in handy if I ever needed to blend in with the upper crust for a job. Didn’t want to go anywhere in Europe, in case of wandering eyes.”

Arthur nodded. To Eames’ surprise, the younger man shifted forward and kissed him quickly. “Thank you.” He then unfolded his legs from where they were tucked into Eames and got up from the bed. Eames watched as he took the laundry basket from the room, then listened as he puttered around the kitchen. Cleaning the stove, or something else banal, no doubt. “Anytime, love!” Eames shouted. When Arthur didn’t respond, he shifted forward, propping himself up with his hands. “Need to know anything else about my illustrious past? Perhaps I could trade histories for blowjobs?”

A heartbeat later, Arthur was back in the bedroom, bringing a trash bag with him. He emptied the bathroom trashcan, ashtray, and bedroom trashcan (had to have one next to the bed for condoms, tissues, wet wipes, empty lube bottles...), before setting the trash bag aside. Even as he stared around the room, looking for something else to do, Eames reached out a lazy arm and grab Arthur’s wrist. It felt small, almost delicate, under his thick fingers. But he knew the strength hidden beneath Arthur’s slight frame.

“Come back to bed, love.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered around the bedroom, but at Eames’ insistent tugging, he allowed himself to be dragged onto the bed and slotted beneath Eames’ arm. Eames kissed the top of the head and squeezed him tightly.

“Now, just relax for a bit, if you please.”

Even though Eames could almost hear the silent protest against lassitude going on in Arthur’s mind, he stayed put, tucked under Eames’ arm and against his side. As Eames’ eyes drifted closed, he stroked Arthur’s bare thigh. “There,” he mumbled, “now isn’t this just lovely?” And Eames fell asleep.

 

 


End file.
